


Lumberjack-Adjacent Romance

by Ent



Series: Lumberly Actions [1]
Category: Original Work
Genre: F/M, Hand Jobs, M/M, Multi, Nonbinary Character, Oral Fixation, Premature Ejaculation, Smut, Trans Female Character, Trans Male Character, fabulism
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-04
Updated: 2020-01-04
Packaged: 2021-02-22 13:55:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,124
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22117003
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ent/pseuds/Ent
Summary: Fox Lowell is nothing more than a humble cook in an anachronistic lumberjack encampment- a humble cook with an incredibly attractive lover who would love nothing more than to wreck his hole, romantically. If only her dick wasn't so big!
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Series: Lumberly Actions [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1584982
Comments: 3
Kudos: 14





	Lumberjack-Adjacent Romance

Mornings came far too early in the day for my liking. The day had dawned bright and crisp at half past 8, but by that point I had already been awake and working for several hours. The kitchen's work began early and ended late, meaning we woke in the dark and went to sleep in it too. It was hard work, and tedious at times, but it had to be done. Half of Old Hellenore's bear population may have been lumberjacks, but that didn't mean they weren't just as vicious when hungry.

Work started out slow, mind-numbing prep work, inside the kitchen and out. Drifts of snow had gathered in little heaps against the doors leading out of the mess hall, some already turning into puddles of slush in the old stone courtyard. I could faintly hear the swish-swish of Andy sweeping the water away from the doors and out of the way as I scrambled a large pan of eggs. I felt pathetically grateful for the kitchen's sweltering heat in a way I would not come noon. I did not envy Andy's cold feet, or her freezing hands.

Joseph, another cabinmate, chattered to me about everything and nothing as he flipped flapjacks. Joseph had once been a lumberjack, though you wouldn't say it just looking at him. He was older than most who lived on Mount Hellenore, and had the energy of a man several decades younger. His hands seemed too large for his frame and flitted about as he spoke, which he did often, at length, to anyone who would listen. He talked quickly, jumping from one topic to the next with dizzying alacrity. He listened with cheerful intensity whenever I muddled my way through a sentence- mornings were not my strong suit.

He and Andy were the closest thing to family I had left, after my grandmother's death a few years ago. Andy I had met as a very young child, when I kicked her in the shins for stealing my ice cream. She'd kicked me back, and we'd been friends ever since. Life would have been very difficult if we hadn't become friends, seeing as we had been the only two children for several miles around growing up. We'd probably wrestled more than we played, if two children trying to kill each other could count as wrestling.

Joseph had been my grandmother's lover, one of several among the lumberjacks, and one of the very few who stayed at the camp year-round. He'd helped to raise me, in a sense, though he was as much my father as any of the other men my grandmother held close to her heart. He was one of the last few left, and the only one who had stayed after her death. He'd sat with me in my grief, when I had been too hurt and angered by her passing to do more than cry, and I had sat with him in turn when her loss turned him to stone. We had mourned my grandmother together, and our relationship was stronger for it.

The morning got lost in the bustle of breakfast foods moving out to the mess. Andy shuffled in just before the worst of the rush hit, punching me in the shoulder and hauling a tray out with the rest of the helping girls. I didn't know them very well, as they were new and slept in their own separate cabin, but Andy got on alright with them and they worked quickly, so I didn't particularly care.

Joseph and I- along with Mitch and Marda, more new chefs, more new faces and names to remember and forget- were shooed away to rest soon after.

I near-collapsed into my chair once breakfast was over. I pulled a book from my pocket, a small volume of collected poetry by some famous augur, filled with premonitions of doom and gloom interspersed with truly off-putting erotic imagery. It was not good poetry, but Andy's off-color commentary at least made it funny. I read sections of it aloud until Marda returned from dish washing and slapped the book out of my hands. They also sat down at the table and grabbed two plates, piling them with leftovers and unceremoniously dropping one before me.

"Eat," they said, before going ahead and doing the same. Lunch passed in relative silence, Andy joining the table a few minutes after Marda with a huge pot of steaming coffee. As I ate, I observed my work mates.

Marda was thin and pale, a curly headed American with a brusquely maternal manner and deep wrinkles. They spoke little, and hardly ever stayed long after the logging season ended, but returned every year. I didn't blame them. Hardly anyone wanted to stay here over the summer. Apart from Andy and I, there were only two other people from the entire crew who stayed year-round, Dana and Joseph.

Dana was a tall, bear-like woman from Quebec and was, simply put, astoundingly beautiful. Her hair fell in a thick, reddish-blonde tumble across her shoulders. She grew a trim mustache, of a deeper red than her hair. She caught my eye and winked; I could still feel the stubble burn on my neck from the night before and flushed deeply.

Joseph was an elderly gentleman, short and stocky. He had no beard, and his hair was kept cropped short beneath his blue cap. His face was pleasantly round, warm brown eyes crinkled with laugh lines, and his voice was soft. He was like a father to me and Andy. He ate his meat with care; his teeth were not what they used to be.

Andy was the nearest thing I had to a sister. We might have been related; we certainly looked similar enough. We shared thick brown hair, though I kept mine shoulder length where hers rarely got longer than her chin. She was slightly taller, and thinner. She ate little, and worked hard. The lumberjacks often called on her and Dana for their support on difficult excursions, and it always took a lot out of her.

I finished eating first, and as I washed my dishes, beneath the clinking of the kitchen crew's cutlery I could hear a faint, muffled meow. I cast a glance toward the crew, who had become suspiciously louder. They seemed quite busy with their food, but somehow managed to slurp coffee and chew so loudly that I could scarcely hear the pitiful meowing. I frowned at them, stacking my plate to dry carefully.

"Hey," I shouted, as Andy stole my mug and joined in on the obnoxious slurping. "I'll pour you a new one, this one's gone cold," she replied, not reacting to the vapour curling from the still steaming cup. I rolled my eyes.

"I swear, if you locked Monty in the pantry again," I huffed, crossing over to the door and unlocking it. This was all very silly. 

"But he's creepy," Dana pouted. I shook my head at them, and closed the door behind me. She wasn't wrong, really.

The pantry was more akin to a walk-in freezer this close to the heart of winter, but it was still a haven for mice and other small critters. That's why we'd brought Monty and his siblings with us in the first place.

Animal augurs are... not common, to put it lightly. Animals still die, obviously, but their resurrections were different, rarer. The mechanisms were a mystery; human augurs were disinclined to discuss what came for them after death, and the beasts were incapable. Anyway. It didn't matter how Monty had become an augur, only that he'd disappeared one day, healthy and whole, and returned a week later, half dead and all wrong.

Andy had been the one to find him. She'd been maybe 12, and I a year older. Her face had been so pale I thought she would faint, but she managed to lead me to him. I am many things, but I am not squeamish, and Andy, for all her grit, cannot bear to see an animal in pain.

Monty, in his life, had been a beautiful tortoiseshell, a cross between a Maine Coon and a Mountain Lion. He had been well-furred and well-fed, a fat little prince. He hadn't been much of a mouser, but he was fine company on a cold winter's night.

Monty-the-augur was... dead, essentially. He still ate- he was a better mouser now than he ever had been when he was alive. His spirit had recovered from death, but not his form. He did not feel that his fur became filthy with dirt and mud, and so did not care to groom it; he did not notice injury, and often limped about on paws dotted with thorns in the summer. His unfeeling body at least made it easy to remove them.

He was still as affectionate as ever, though he could not feel it. I sat on the floor of the pantry, calling to him. Monty chirped as he came running, rushing me for affection. He rubbed against my knees, purring madly. I smoothed a hand over his knobbly spine and crooned softly to him, gently scooping him into my lap.

He did not protest, licking my hands and still purring. I held him like a baby in my lap, petting his belly and inspecting his paws. They were rimed with frost, but unharmed further. I tickled the bridge of his nose, and finally, he opened his eyes. They yawned in his face, two gaping pits where his eyes had been replaced with pitch black, the space between stars.

I did not fight the trance that overcame me, but I could not stop the trembling.

The scene Monty showed me was a familiar one.

The yard was still, lit only by the stars, and almost unrecognisable under its thick blanket of snow. The world seemed to be holding its breath. Thick, fat snowflakes drifted downward, slow at first, then falling like hail. The wind picked up, tearing at my clothing and tossing my hair about. It left me feeling lightheaded and cold. For a long moment, all I could see was snow.

The white-dark in my vision gradually lightened and faded away, revealing the yard once more. The snow had risen nearly higher than the roof in places, but a window was left nearly bare, hardly obscured at all. The full moon, writ large in the night sky, illuminated the interior.

I woke from the trance a while later, foggy-headed and tired. Monty closed his eyes and went to sleep. I straightened from my slump, groggily stretching. My back ached, and my eyes were painfully dry. The pantry had no windows, but I was sure the day was over. I carefully set Monty on a crate of beets and shuffled my way out of the pantry.

The kitchen was dark and quiet. The curtains were drawn to keep out the chill, but the room was still freezing, stove and oven long dormant. It was rare for trances to last quite so long, but it had happened before.

I shivered my way through the yard and into the Northeast bunkhouse, yawning all the way. My bunk was closest to the door, and on its bottom bed I could see Dana. She, unlike everyone else, was not asleep. She sat with her back to the door, braiding her hair. I paused, unsure.

Dana and I were... lovers, maybe? No, definitely. I padded over to her and sat, curling up against her.

She paused, pressing a kiss to my cheek. "Hello, mon cher. You were gone a long time. What did you see?" She whispered, tying off her braid. I groaned, and sat up.

"There's going to be a blizzard soon, I think. What's the moon phase?" If I remembered my phases right, the thing would last two weeks, at least. We'd just had a delivery of provisions, and the chickens would do fine in their coop, expanded as it was, but worry still gnawed at me.

"Oh, it's..." Dana leaned back, peeking out the window. "It's at third quarter."

I sighed. At least we had a few days' warning, though I wish the trance hadn't lasted so long. Dana chuckled softly and gathered me in her arms, pressing a soft kiss to my neck. It seemed we would be sharing a bed tonight. I squirmed loose to undress and brush my teeth, and returned to bed soon after.

Dana did not wear her union suit to bed as I did, preferring to wear a silky, knee-length nightgown. It was almost sheer and I'd admired it on her for longer than I'd known her name. Her body was a brief, tantalizing silhouette in it before she doused her bedside lamp.

We spooned in the darkness, my body snuggled behind hers. She was a large woman, and liked to be held more than I did. Being this close to her was somewhat maddening, though. Her body was warm, and the thin cloth of the nightgown did little to hide the curves of her body against mine. I pressed my nose to her skin and inhaled. Her hair was still slightly damp from the bath, and smelled of lavender.

Dana stirred, sleepily mumbling and squeezing my hand. She shifted to face me. Her cheeks were slightly red and marked from the pillow; my heart skipped a beat, and I smiled at her. She smiled back, placing a gentle hand on my cheek. The room was still, the loudest sound my own breathing. I could feel my heartbeat thundering; Dana pulled me in for a kiss.

I kept quiet; the last thing I wanted was for this to stop. Her tongue licked into my mouth, a slow, languid movement, and I opened my mouth with a stifled gasp. Her mouth was scorching, and her tongue slipped against mine like a magma flow, inexorable and so damn hot.

Dana pulled my hips closer to hers, hooking a leg over mine and thrusting gently- only for both of us to freeze at a loud, protesting squeak from the bed. For a single, mortifying moment, we did not dare move. Then, the sleeping form of our neighbour let out a sn-sn-snoOOork; we locked eyes and desperately tried not to laugh.

We settled back into kissing, though Dana didn't try thrusting again. She held me close to her, one hand tangled in my hair, the other tenderly groping my buttock. I slipped a hand underneath her rucked-up nightgown and began playing with her nipple, marveling at her bare skin's softness. I'd never touched her like this before; her body was plush, plentiful and giving where mine was hard and muscular. I squeezed her breast gently, rolling her nipple in between my thumb and forefinger.

Dana squeezed with both hands, forcing a squeak from my lips. A sigh stuttered out of her, and I did it again. Her breathing became heavier, and her hand found its way to my crotch. She kept the one on my behind precisely where it was, using it to push me against her knuckles. I gasped, a singularly loud sound in the sleepy room. She raised an eyebrow and I felt myself flush.

Somewhat vindictively, I grabbed her nipple and twisted.

"Ow!" She laughed, louder than I'd expected, and I shushed her frantically. Thankfully, no one stirred.

She stuck her tongue out at me and ground her hand against my clit- I managed to keep my mouth shut, barely. I extricated my hand from her shirt and pressed it firmly against my lips.

Dana unbuttoned my union suit and tugged me closer to her. She slipped a hand into my clothing and gently rubbed three fingers on the head of my aching dick. One finger dragged against my clit, almost painfully dry. I winced, removing my hand and grasping Dana's by the wrist. 

I brought her hand up to my mouth, not even really thinking about it before putting her fingers in my mouth. I lapped at them, intent on getting her wet before her hands got anywhere near my dick again. Her fingers tasted of nothing in particular, her nails blunt against my tongue. My mouth tingled as I began to suck on her fingers, uncaring about the saliva gathering at the corners of my mouth. At some point my eyes slid shut, brain going quiet.

Dana groaned softly, slipping her fingers from my mouth and replacing them with a fierce kiss. Her hand returned to its rightful place, and this time the drag was a sweet slide against my clit, pressure building pleasure. Her fingers quickly got into a swift rhythm, brushing against my clit over and over again until I shook. My toes curled and my breath shuddered out of my lungs in one great whoosh. She kept at it, sending the muscles of my stomach fluttering from sensation.

Pleasure built into a single, sharp point and I curled up around Dana's hand, shivering. She let up on her ministrations, but kept her hand pressed against my dick. It twitched against her, my cunt clenching with aftershocks. I lay against her for a few moments, hands shaking as I caught my breath.

I pressed a kiss against Dana's mouth. She smiled into it, fingers brushing against my clit as she moved her hand to my bare buttock, kneading it as we kissed. Her nightgown allowed access to more than just her breasts, and I wrapped a hand around her cock. It jumped at my touch, and Dana panted into the kiss. It was hard, the only hard thing about Dana, and I could feel warm precome oozing from the tip. It was also very big. It felt like my hand took an age to travel from tip to base.

Dana quaked as I dragged my hand up and down, teasing the head. I aimed it at my clit, nudging the two against each other. More precome bubbled up and out, slicking the way; my hand got faster and faster, jerking her off onto my cunt.

Dana's breath came quickly, her grip on me tightening as her orgasm crept closer and closer. She pressed kisses to my forehead, my nose, my cheeks- anywhere within reach. Her hips started rocking into my rhythm, the bed's springs mercifully silent now.

She pressed close to me, pulling my hips to hers, and came. Her come splashed against my wet hole for longer than I thought possible before Dana wriggled out of my grip and pulled down her nightgown. She buttoned me up with a kiss, then turned on her back and fell asleep.

I lay against her, cunt covered in her seed, mouth tingling, and felt more awake than ever.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! Happy New Year!!!
> 
> Please leave a comment with anything you'd like to see in future installments. Thanks!


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